


Willst Du

by ascience



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Borussia Dortmund, FC Bayern München, Fluff, Footy Ficathon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:32:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2320829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascience/pseuds/ascience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being drunk turns Marco into the best singer of the entire world.</p><p>For <a href="http://thesilverwitch.livejournal.com/31896.html?thread=397976#t397976">this</a> prompt: "mario götze/marco reus, drunk!marco serenading mario with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=opoDBF_b-fg">this</a> song (for the non-german speakers, just like. google the lyrics.) marco should be as trashed as physically possible, probably "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Willst Du

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for drunkenness for the fic and for drug use/abuse in the music vid!  
> The video linked on the lj page is a different one (because it's blocked in Germany, oh the irony) but it's the same song.
> 
> Hover over the German sentences to get a translation!
> 
> I'm on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/anexactscience).

“So, like, you knooow, like, _like,_ ” Marco slurs and Mario can already tell that this conversation is just going to be great. No sarcasm.

Looking around, the others are in a similar condition as Marco, even though none of them are quite as wasted. Except maybe Philipp who is standing on a wobbly chair, directing anybody who is drunk enough to be obedient to form a wall in front of the fridge.

Mario sighs. Parties only ever are fun when you’re allowed to drink, too, and didn’t draw the shortest straw or, in his case, were last to leave the shower after training.  
He feels like the only sober person in the entire house and wonders whether being designated driver for more than thirty people is possible. Most of them will probably pass out on the carpet anyway, if the last party was anything to judge by.

Marco tugs Mario’s collar and nearly falls over in the process. Mario only barely manages to hold him up.

“Like,” Marco repeats and squints for a moment like he has to concentrate, “a goal... it’s... The goal is the new – no, let me start again... the goal is, in its existence, the goal is.”

Mario waits for the end of the sentence but Marco just leans against his shoulder and drools onto the sweater.

“The goal is...what?” Mario asks because isn’t there some saying like ‘drunk people tell the truth’ and maybe Marco knows some grade-A football tricks?

Marco does a swirly gesture with his right hand. Unfortunately he had still been holding the beer bottle so he sprays Mario, himself and half the table with icky warm alcohol. He also almost hits Mario in the face.

“The goal...” Marco whispers and pauses dramatically before continuing in a loud voice, “...is the goal!”

Marco beams crookedly before slipping out of Mario’s grip and dropping to the floor. He doesn’t make any move to get up (except saying ‘up’ in a sing-song voice) so Mario figures maybe that’s for the best and drags him to closest couch.

Marco is heavy as shit and isn’t exactly helping so Mario sort of dumps him onto the pillows and heaves Marco’s legs into the lap of Jerome who is already softly snoring on one armrest with a sharpie dick drawn on his face.

“Can you stay here while I get a glass of water?” Mario asks and is about to leave for the kitchen when Marco stubbornly cries out “NO!” and holds onto Mario’s shirt tails with a surprisingly strong grasp.

“You-you can’t leave cos you nee’ to-“

Mario never gets to hear what he needs to do because over the speakers the Peter Fox song fades out and the first notes of a new song start playing.

Marco instantly props himself up on his elbows and stars nodding his head to the beat like an excited puppy.

Mario tries to use the distraction to sneak away to get the glass of water but once again, Marco is faster. For a drunk guy, his reflex to hang onto Mario is pretty strong.

Marco drags Mario down so he has to kneel down with their heads on the same level.

The singer of the new track starts rapping and Marco is right there with him, slurring the words into sometimes barely recognizable grunts but always on time. His hair is mussed, his cheeks are red and he’s groggily swaying while emphasizing the lyrics with sweeping gestures.  
It’s sort of funny in an adorable way.

„ _Wie man eine Liebe maximal romantisch lebt, will jeder wissen, keiner hilft uns - Fair play._ “ Marco roars and it _sounds_ like a weird love song.

Marco flings his arms around Mario’s neck and nearly falls of the couch. He kicks Jerome into an area close to his crotch but Jerome barely moves.  
_„ Wir kennen uns seit X Jahren, du brauchst jetzt nix sagen. Ich wollt dich fragen: Wollen wir den nächsten Schritt wagen?_“ Marco continues singing directly into Mario’s ear. He doesn’t bother adjusting the volume he sings it with and transports about a liter of spit onto Mario’s cheek.

Mario stifles a sigh and decides to enjoy the moment because in all the years they’ve known each other – a serenade using a rap song that mocks drug use is a first.

Marco works himself up into the chorus of the song and tries to look deeply into Mario’s eyes while singing. However, he has a hard time focusing so it just seems like he’s gazing into a distance like the people pondering their life in infomercials.

„ _Willst du mit mir Drogen nehmen? Dann wird es rote Rosen regnen. Ich hab's in einer Soap gesehen, willst du mit mir Drogen nehmen?_ “

Mario remembers the chorus of the song, probably from the radio, so he turns it into an awkward duet between the two of them. If they could sing half as well as they play football, it would sound a million times better than the drunk tune they manage.  
  
_“ (Komm) Komm, wir geh'n - Komm, wir geh'n zusamm'n den Bach runter - (Komm) Denn ein Wrack ist ein Ort, an dem ein Schatz schlummert.“_

Across the room, Mario spots Lukas and Basti slow-dancing – quite an achievement to do it to a song like this one.

Next to him, hanging onto Mario and the couch for his dear life, Marco babbles on, reciting the lyrics automatically but still with much zeal.  
“ _Eine herbstliche Szene, weil es passt, und ich falle auf die Knie und hol aus meiner Jacke, eine kleine Schachtel - Du weißt was abgeht. “_

Marco tries to kiss Mario but even with Mario helping him aim, his lips land below Mario’s right eye. Marco laughs so hard he chokes on his own saliva and Mario almost considers trying first aid.

Breathing hotly into Mario’s face, Marco licks a stripe down to Mario’s mouth and their lips meet in a kiss that mostly tastes like beer and little like lemon.

Marco draws away again pretty quickly and Mario has to roll his eyes when he notices that it’s simply to keep singing. How long is this damn song?

“ _Mach unser Leben filmreifer als Til Schweiger. Es hat Action, Drama und Comedy, also was sagst du, mon cheri?_ “

Marco pronounces the last two words in the most exaggerated French accent and grins, one eyebrow raised in challenge. He crawls off the couch in an attempt to get down on one knee, but he gets caught on Jerome’s shirt and falls, face first, onto the floorboards.

The chorus is playing again when Mario helps Marco sit up on the couch again. Marco is pale and looks sort of miserable and green-ish.

“Are you going to throw up?” Mario asks, not that much concerned.

“No-o.” Marco replies and clasps a hand over his mouth.

Mario groans. “Are you going to throw up?” he repeats because apparently, he’s the only adult here.

“Yes. Maybe.”

So Mario drags Marco to the bathroom, pushes Julian who is making out with a potted plant out of the way, and pats Marco’s back while he heaves into the sink.

“I’m not going to take drugs with you.” Mario says, smirking, and meets Marco’s eyes in the mirror.

Marco groans but when Mario carries him to the car and arranges his limbs on the back seat, he’s already mumbling lyrics again.  
“ _Komm schon, das wird romantisch, wenn ich dich halte, damit du nicht auf den Klorand brichst. “_

True love, Mario thinks. True love.


End file.
